


Junker Gear ™

by WodensSkadi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Celebrity AU, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Humor, Leather and lace, Lingerie, M/M, San Francisco, Sex Shop, Sex Toys, junkrat would lose at a junkrat impersonation contest, mentions of BDSM, poking fun at over the top fans, the united states is problematic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 11:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13833084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WodensSkadi/pseuds/WodensSkadi
Summary: “It’s not a junker store,” he tried to explain.As Roadhog stood before the shop, Junkrat hurried to point at a smaller sign in the window that read, “Now selling Junker Gear ™! HOOK a man and show him an EXPLOSIVE time with our new line!”“Is so! Says so right here!”What the literal fuck?





	Junker Gear ™

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soldmysoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldmysoul/gifts).



> Squeaking this in at the last minute, and barely escaped going over the max word count - my delayed Valentine's Gift to [SoldMySoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldmysoul/pseuds/soldmysoull)
> 
> BIG thanks to [Thyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/pseuds/Thyme_Basalt) my beta for editing this over the last two days as I was writing it to make sure I got it in on time.
> 
> Thyme, Silly and I have been making jokes about this AU we brainstormed for weeks now, and I think it's safe to bet this won't be the only story that takes place in this AU.

He had forgotten how silky soft nylons were. Roadhog rubbed his stubbled cheek against the ankle thrown over his shoulder and grinned when Junkrat’s snigger was broken by a groan. His large hands slid up a lengthy and toned leg before tracing the lacy edge of the thigh-high being held in place by a red satin garter belt.

“Hooley dooley, Hog, keep touching,” Junkrat demanded huskily and pressed a silky foot against his chest, rubbing his toes against Roadhog’s pierced nipple.

A grunt leaves Hog’s lips as he reaches forward and yanks the garter strap up before releasing it and allowing it to snap sharply back down against Junkrat’s upper thigh. “I’m in charge.”

Rat hissed and reached down to rub the irritated skin but his hand is swatted away. He scowled up at his partner. “Dunno why ya think ya get to be in charge. I’m the one dressed all fancy. Should be treatin’ me like royalty - what with all these fine silky things I’m wearin’ and all.”

“You’re not dressed fancy - you’re dressed like a prostitute.”

Junkrat kicked Roadhog’s side with his prosthetic leg and sneered up at him. “Well this ROYAL prostitute ain’t puttin’ up with no disrespect from some fat fuck that has ta pay for some bloke to help him get his jollies off,” he seethed.

Roadhog’s laughter bellowed as he swatted the offending limb away. “Don’t gotta pay. You beg for it. Constantly.” 

“I don’t beg for it! Yer just an old fart that can’t keep up with my stamina!” His face was screwed up in a furious pout; his eyes narrowed, lips pursed and his wild eyebrows curled down.

“Being a horny fuck is not the same as stamina, idiot.” Roadhog gripped Junkrat’s already erect cock through the satin underwear and grinned lewdly when the junker let out a breathless titter.

“Yer the drongo, mate!”

“You’re a broken record, Rat. No wonder the clerk thought you were a cheap impression of yourself.”

Earlier that afternoon Junkrat had hobbled into their crummy motel room, loudly announcing that San Francisco had everything they needed; he had found a store that sold junker gear. Roadhog had attempted to argue that the city wasn’t an irradiated dump, and wouldn’t sell that sort of product. Rat fired back that no one had paid them too much attention in their get up, and he had seen plenty of folks in outlandish attire. Roadhog relented that maybe it was fashionable here in the states to dress like a group of people that the world had turned its back on. Cultural appropriation was in fashion still there, right? Or Junkrat had just found a military surplus store. Junkrat had been confident he had seen gas masks and holsters in the window storefront though, so Roadhog decided that a tactical store would be well worth the walk up a few steep streets.

Roadhog leaned against the brick wall of an alleyway, panting and wiping sweat from the back of his neck. It was infinitely cooler here in San Francisco, but why the fuck was the city comprised of so many steep inclines? He waited for the mocking laughter of his partner but as he tilted his head up, he noticed the scraggly man was keeping his weight off of his right leg. Climbing probably wasn’t that easy with a peg leg. He turned his head to look across the street at the address they were traveling to and stared.

“The Manhole,” was emblazoned across the yellow and black sign above the window in a font seen normally in construction zones.

He straightened up and walked across the street with a chuckle; Junkrat was quick to follow. “It’s not a junker store,” he tried to explain.

As he stood before the shop Junkrat hurried to point at a smaller sign in the window, below a large rainbow pride flag that read, “Now selling Junker Gear ™! _HOOK_ a man and show him an _EXPLOSIVE_ time with our new line!”

“Is so! Says so right here!”

_What the literal fuck?_

Roadhog sucked in his gut and pushed through the door of the shop.

“Welcome to The Manhole, guys how - Jesus, didn’t anyone ever explain its a faux pas to wear scene gear in public?” A middle-aged bald man with a black handlebar mustache stood in front of a counter with his arms crossed over his chest in disapproval. He wore tight blue denim, yellow Timberland boots, and a black t-shirt with the store’s logo on the front.

“Not in a scene,” Hog grumbled.

The employee took a closer look and rolled his eyes. “Oh, wait, junkers. You’re cosplayers then. Didn’t know there were any conventions going on today. I take it you’re looking for Junker Gear?”

“Who are you calling cosplayers, ya drongo!” Junkrat hollered beside him.

Roadhog shook his head. “Rat, shut up.” He let his eyes wander around the shop, and memories of a life from long ago filtered through. A life filled with big leather daddies, and needy cubs. Maybe this excursion would be worthwhile after all.

“He’s calling us names, Roadie! Said we was fucking cosplayers,” Junkrat hissed to Roadhog in frustration.

“Do you know what a cosplayer is?”

“Yes. No. I mean, he made it sound like we was a couple of derros.” He was still attempting to whisper conspiratorially with his partner. His whisper was about as low as an average person’s regular volume so the employee was staring in confusion.

Roadhog chuckled and headed to the merchandise. “Means you’re pretending to be a junker.” That ought to keep Junkrat busy as he perused the wares.

With a straightened spine of indignant anger, Junkrat yelled at the employee, “Pretending? Mate, I’ll have ya know I was born with scrap in each fist!”

Another voice spoke up, and a quick glance over his shoulder informed Roadhog of another customer’s presence. The man had liberty spikes spray painted neon green and was decked out in leathers and shredded black jeans. There was a giant anarchy symbol pinned to the back of his jacket. Ah, so the punk scene was still around after all of these years. He wondered if the man had ever made a stand against a corrupt government, or knew what it was like to live in real anarchy.  “Junkrat was born before the explosion of the Omnium. And it’s already common knowledge that he was born without his right arm. I mean, if you’re going to be dedicated to staying in character you should really get your facts straight.”

Okay. So, maybe the states hadn’t made the outback’s demise into a fashion trend, but apparently they were famous here, Roadhog realized. And while being famous could be just as problematic as infamous (what with being recognized easily), if they could be seen as “fans” in costume, then this could work to their advantage. They could wander about as they pleased. Roadhog could do some shopping and leave without any problems for once, and not have to worry about ridiculous disguises. Junkrat probably hadn’t figured this out yet. Aside from D.Va, he had no context for what celebrities were. And she was just an excellent mech fighter as far as Junkrat knew.

Rat spluttered at the man as Roadhog snagged a basket and scooped up some lube. Always useful. He shuffled to the leather section and found some new gloves that would fit his gigantic hands and tossed a few pairs in to be altered later. There was even a pair of riding chaps in his size. He was sure Junkrat would get a kick out of the assless pants even if he didn’t use them just for riding the hog.

“Get my facts - mate, I’m the genuine junker article! Ain’t no one knows me better than meself!”

Roadhog rolled his eyes at that one. Poor bastard forgot Roadhog’s name half the time and they spent every moment of their lives together and had been doing so for the last year or two. He eyed a wall of slave and gimp hoods and saw a row of gas masks with shiny new lenses. Perfect. His had become foggy from the multitude of scratches they had accumulated. He reached up to inspect them but one, in particular, caught his attention. It was a gas mask with a pig motif. Much like his own. In fact, it was nearly identical. Pulling it down, he frowned; it was cheap rubber and thin. There was a tag on the side with Junkrat’s iconic graffiti smiley face and his pig tattoo. “Junker Gear ™: Become the One Man Apocalypse!” It reminded him of a Halloween mask - a cheap toy. What a joke. He dropped the mask on the floor and reached for a sturdier mask and dropped it in the basket.

“Look, everyone knows the junker’s lore. Junkrat never had a right arm, and he lost his leg later on in life,” said the know-it-all customer.

“Blew it up,” Junkrat stated proudly.

“That was just some dumb rumor on the internet, it’s been confirmed he lost it growing up in the sewers trying to hide from the radiation. Got attacked by a giant alligator down there.”

_The radiation never spread outside the outback. What sewer system? And there are crocodiles, not alligators._

“At least you got the smell right for someone who lives in the sewers.”

Roadhog’s deep rumbling laughter echoed from the back of the shop.

“Roaaaadieeee!” Junkrat whined, obviously nonplussed to hear his bodyguard amused by his distress.

“Your friend seems pretty in character. Has the right body for Roadhog. His weapons look incredibly real for a Nerf gun repaint and what I assume is painted worbla shaped into Roadhog’s hook. His mask looks custom made, the distressing details are amazing. But the mask makes it easy to cosplay as Roadhog considering what his face looks like under his mask,” said the junker enthusiast.

“Beautiful,” sighed Junkrat wistfully.

Roadhog smiled at that and grabbed a few silky items that looked like they would fit his partner. He had probably never been exposed to clothing like this before.

The employee chimed back in at that and snickered. “Yeah if you like irradiated pig faces.”

“Wot?”

“Nope, I read he killed a boar with his bare hands and used it to cover his disfigured face,” said the punk customer.

 _Killed a pig?_ Roadhog growled at that idea.

A high-pitched sound of frustration escaped Junkrat before he engaged in the debate, “Naw, mate, he got that mask in China. Some bloke was selling these ripper masks during a festival. Roadie wouldn’t hurt a pig. The big cunt loves anything cute. He looks aces in that one. Looks, uhhh...wots the word - disgusting? No… - distinguished! Yeah, looks distinguished without it too. With his um, blue, no brown eyes. I think.”

Roadhog wasn’t sure if he should feel flattered or annoyed. Another Junker Gear ™ sign caught his attention. It was a tower display of sex toys, one side featuring “Streetpig” and the other side had “Trashmouse” products.

“Jesus, you know Australians don’t actually speak like that, right? You sound like Crocodile Dundee in a commercial for Outback Steakhouse,” laughed the customer.

“Mate, yer the one talking gibberish. No steakhouses in the outback. And I never heard a crocodile talk before.”

Both of the men started laughing and Roadhog heard Junkrat’s uneasy cackle join them. Considering how often he had to help the scrawny man remember the smaller details of his life, this was probably really confusing for him. With a resigned sigh, he dumped a few boxes of the toys into his basket (he’d take a closer look at them later) and made his way back to the front of the store to his partner. He could always check if the Junker Gear ™ had a website and see what other ridiculous items they had for sale.

“Time to go, Rat,” he said.

The employee reached for his basket. Roadhog did not relinquish it.

“How did you want to pay for these?”

The idea that they could just wander around in their normal clothing had been appealing, but distressing his boss had made Roadhog itch for an excuse to cause some mayhem. He reached for the scrap gun at his side and leveled it at the man’s torso.

Junkrat perked up at the sign of hostility and grinned maniacally and his twitchy fingers sought out his detonator.

The employee with the mustache chuckled. “Ha ha, very funny guys. But I’d take it easy pretending to threatening people, even if it is just with toys. Someone might mistake you for the real thing and call the cops.”

Roadhog turned and shot the register sitting on the counter and Junkrat let out a whoop of excitement. Junkrat tossed a mine at the entrance and blew an easier opening for them. In the ensuing chaos, the two men grabbed their basket and hightailed it out of there.

Thankfully, running downhill was much easier than their journey to the shop and they managed to retreat to their scummy motel without any police following them. Next time, Roadhog would make sure they took the motorcycle though. Running wasn’t one of his strong suits and they were both soaked with sweat once they returned.

Junkrat reached for the goodies inside the basket Roadhog had dumped on the bed and Roadhog smacked his hand away. “He was right, you do smell like a sewer.”

“Speak for yerself, Pig-Face.”

“Shower first. Then I’ll show you what junker goods they sold.”

The ridiculousness of the afternoon felt justified by the image of Junkrat below Roadhog now. The man wore a black satin jockstrap, red garters and a black lace trimmed thigh high. Just running his fingers and hands along his companion’s toned leg had the both of them panting. He had donned the leather riding chaps and Junkrat’s jaw had damn near hit the floor (“They make pants for rootin’?!’) before Roadhog helped him into the silky new slips of clothing Hog had chosen for him.

He pressed a wet kiss against the nylon calf before him and lowered the leg. “Roll over.”

“Your majesty,” Junkrat said with a grin.

“What?” he grunted.

“I believe ya meant to say, ‘Roll over, your majesty,’” Junkrat corrected him.

Roadhog snorted and flipped the cheeky little fuck over. “Idiot.” Junkrat kicked back with his peg leg again, but this time Roadhog caught the offending limb before it struck him. “Keep it up, you little shit and I’ll take your prostheses off,” he said with a growl.

“Didn’t know ya were into so much kinky shit Roadie; all yer new leathers, these fancy bits ya got on me, and now ya wanna fuck an amputee! Maybe ya wanna get fucked by one of me stumps? Pretty sure I seen that in a video once.”

Roadhog let out the longest, deepest, and the most dramatically suffering sigh he’d ever released before. And then he bodily rolled the other man over who just cackled.

Warm massage oil was dribbled over the crack of Junkrat’s ass and Hog’s thick fingers spread it around between the tight muscular cheeks before pressing in between them with a groan. He’d seen how the front of Rat’s underwear was already dark with pre-cum. The twitchy fuck was too turned on to last long enough for him to fuck his ass, so this would have to do for now.

Junkrat pressed back against him with a whine before grinding back against the mattress, his dick rubbing against the satin material of his jockstrap. A choked out gurgle of a moan drifted up and Roadhog smirked. He knew Rat would enjoy the flimsy material. Not that he could blame him. He wiped any excess oil onto his chest before gripping a nylon-encased thigh beneath him and thrust against the spastic man. Junkrat was normally all sharp angles and dry skin, but with the help of the lingerie he felt soft and inviting.

“Fuck, Hog, more! Please!”

“Like I said, you beg for it,” he chuckled breathlessly and pressed more of his weight down onto Junkrat as he ground against him.

“Fuck off - just, christ nnnnhh, move faster!” Junkrat said with a snarl.

With a grunt Roadhog lay down across Junkrat, his forearms braced on either side of his head and ground his thick cock as hard and fast as he dared, the blunt head nudging against Rat’s hole with every forward thrust. His weight ensured Rat’s own drooling dick dragged against the mattress, allowing him the little bit of friction he required.

The lanky body beneath him suddenly stopped rocking back against him and tightened up. Roadhog grunted as he sat up, quickly twisting Rat onto his back. He tugged the satin jockstrap down and clutched both of their cocks together in one massive fist and stroked them both to completion. Rat came with a yowl and Hog cursed through his.

Roadhog crashed down beside Junkrat, the bed letting out a shriek of strained metal before his side dipped a bit. Fuck. Oh well, they’d just prop it up with one of those notepads motels always left sitting on the desk before they left so no one would realize the frame had broke. It had worked before.

There was a tap on his shoulder and he lifted his mask up to rest on top of his head so that he could see Junkrat.

He was greeted by the man’s wicked grin and boxes of the assorted knockoff sex toys. “Roadie, they made fake dongers of us. Yers is short and fat. Looks like a pig snout! Mine’s fucking huge, mate! Look!”

A bright orange jelly dildo flopped over and smacked Hog in the face as Junkrat cackled.

Roadhog was going to look up the Junker Gear ™ website, find the manufacturing location and they were going to level it to the ground.  



End file.
